Lips As Red As Blood Quotes

#1. I smiled. I know how creepy I am when I smile. Whoever came up with "skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood" and thought people would find it attractive really wasn't thinking things through.

Seanan McGuire

#2. Her skin was as white as snow, her lips as red as blood, and her long hair as black as ebony.

C.J. Redwine

#3. Death, you are no different to me than my lover with cloud-coloured skin, and your hair a mass of dark cloud, your hands like blood-red lotus, and your lips the colour of blood.

Tagore Rabindranath

#4. Aliens bled red, just like everybody else.

Kameron Hurley

#5. Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

#6. A girl's red lips imitate the hot blood coursing through the lips of her labia, a sign that she is healthy and ready for breeding. She may not know that. He may not know that. But this is the design, the primeval impulse to redden our lips.

Chloe Thurlow

#7. Still, she stood looking fabulous like a princess should, licking her blood red lips the moment she laid her eyes on the beautiful prince. It was appetite on first sight.

Cameron Jace

#8. Lips, red, ruby, like the blood, like the words.

Gwen Calvo

#9. Her lips were red. Not the garish painted red so many women believe makes them desirable. Her lips were always red, morning and night. As if minutes before you saw her, she had been eating sweet berries, or drinking heart's blood.

Patrick Rothfuss

#10. Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony.

Jacob Grimm

#11. I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood;
Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-read heath,
The red-ribb'd ledges drip with a silent horror of blood
And Echo there, whatever is ask'd her, answers "Death".

Agatha Christie

#12. And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine
Burned like the ruby fire set
In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,
Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,
Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet
With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.

Oscar Wilde